pictures, sounds, thoughts

Unimplemented Trap feels like it was recorded in some kind of romantic resignation – a sublimely laconic album full of sullen beauty and subverted cadence that no one outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee has heard.

Recorded in 1998, it represents Chattanooga three-piece Title One’s first full-length foray into the digital realm. Despite it’s (apparently tricky) binary gestation, the album retains that just-tangible sense of warmth and honesty of production usually associated with analogue recordings. Indeed, everything about the record feels born of a similar place – the instrumentation is full yet unfussy, the songwriting manages to feel personal without any trace of conceit, and the record coalesces organically at a wonderfully gentle pace.

Title One demonstrate a deft economy with their ideas; delicate spindles of melody are given their time to take root without ever threatening to fatigue. The production, too, is skilfully transparent. It gives an enjoyable sense of depth to the recordings – drums sound as if they’re somewhere off in the middle distance while voices seem to emanate from inside the listener’s head. And so the vocal remains, perfectly in focus for the entirety of the album, each lyric softly delivered in under-the-bedsheets late night secret whispers.

Yet Unimplemented Trap would never see release. It was only by chance that I had the opportunity to hear it; serendipitously posted at the same time as my idle perusal of the most recent bandcamp uploads. Extensive googling of the band offered precious little additional information, and I couldn’t find any more of Title One’s music save from Unimplemented Trap‘s twin 20 song EP (“a sort of improvisation/dada experiment” in the bands own words), recorded simultaneously. Somehow, though, the album suits its obscurity. The fact the so few have heard the record seems to give its hushed lyrics all the more significance.

Although full of gems – some other stand out tracks being “They Dance”, “Sick On Your Birthday”, and the gorgeous “Up & Up” – Unimplemented Trap is a wonderfully structured and paced record that benefits greatly from a one-sit listen. Ideally, “They Dance” would be heard on one of those long and lonely night-time drives – or, blending with the sound of a grey midday downpour, “Something Like That” would extend some tender solace.

At the time of writing, Unimplemented Trap can be downloaded from the band’s bandcamp page in one of those pay-what-you-feel kind of deals. You’ll be rewarded for listening to it loudly, on headphones, in the dark.

I feel compelled to write again – not by anything in particular, it just seems like a good way to digest the events of the past… year? how has it been so long? I may unwittingly omit quite major happenings in my fervour, please find some way to forgive the more glaring ones (if you are indeed in a position to recognise them, which I strongly suspect you might be if you’re reading).

last time i touched base, i had just returned from a wonderful experience volunteering at y not festival. i met some truly great people and shared some wonderful late-night moonshine-fuelled conversations.

i have since either deleted as a friend – or been deleted by – all but two of them on facebook.

next came oxjam. i thought it would be something nice and productive to engage me for the summer, something to pad out the cv, a chance to exercise some of the skills i’d been taught in my time at university. quickly, it became apparent i’d bitten off far more than these modest molars could masticate (wow).

it certainly wasn’t a wholly negative experience, but it’s one that i wouldn’t rush to repeat. but, as intended, it occupied me as i needed to be occupied and pushed and pulled me along to october – back to medway. back to university.

My Final Year

i returned to gillingham in a fog. i blended into the grey and leant upon the green for the first time. it was a welcome crutch at first, but after a few weeks of vacantly watching the smoke swirl about my bare basement living room i grew more and more unsatisfied. when classes started up again, i vowed to make a good go of my final year in study. it was in this state of mind that i first met a new friend (NF herein).

in another self-promise, i thought i’d get to know a few more people on my course. I joined NF’s group instead of the easy alternative of the usual crowd. the group – an odd bunch. perfectly lovely, each in their own way. the group dynamic was at times strange, but with NF i felt instantly on solid ground. i felt on a level in a way i hadn’t before with anyone. this feeling of validation, kind-of-kinship, i find hard to exaggerate it’s effect on me. NF was, as indeed i felt they would be, to be a major part of by far the best and perhaps most important year of my life so far. i remember many days and nights spent in their company with a fond smile, and look forward to many more hopefully. the fate of my y not companions seems altogether unlikely with this one.

2014

i hauled in the new year whilst working for a band i didn’t particularly like. about the rowdy irish pub, in which the gig was held, i felt much the same. despite our start in stale company and alien surroundings, i felt 2014 could be a special year.

NF and i took a trip to amsterdam. we shared music, food, thoughts, and smoke – felt a friendship grow more profound. later in that first frosty month we went to paris. a wholly amazing trip full of wonderful people and memories (and quite frankly deserves a post all of it’s own – but we suspect that won’t happen perhaps). again, our shared experience was something i felt warm about. on our return, i would confide in NF my deepest concerns about the development of my music. NF proved a steady source of sage advice and inspiration – it helped that I found their own music so full of craft and honesty.

in much the same way, that final year played itself out. of course there were stresses, naturally there were strains, but i came out with a degree and a friendship forged. i look back on my three years at university with a mixture of fondness and frustration, but i can say honestly that they were three years that will keep close.

as i type, i find a tear flickers in my eye. i don’t know what to make of it.

but now i just sit bathed in blue laptop light, alone and directionless.

i lost my phone. damn. started a band. hooray. we’re called zola budd and we’re writing and recording and all that. other than that, i’m helping organising oxjam chiswick, and trying to get some producer gigs. and money. i need some money. here’s a picture of me campaigning at y not.